


Wayward Agent

by Sarah_Ellie



Series: Against His Heart [2]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Complete, M/M, Post-Skyfall, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part II of the "Against His Heart" Series. Bond and Q have been together for a few weeks, carefully balancing their love life with the demands of MI6. At first things are fine, but the trouble begins when Bond is sent on assignment in Asia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Walther and the Wristwatch

**Author's Note:**

> Part II of the "Against His Heart" Series. Part one cam be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/567821/chapters/1016249

“This seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Q asked, examining himself in the mirror. If he just glanced at his reflection, then he wouldn’t have noticed too much of a difference. He still looked like a nerd masquerading in business-casual. But there were subtle differences in the cut of his trousers now; they rested perfectly over his leather shoes, not scraping against the ground one bit. His white button down was softer than any shirt he had ever owned, and the collar was looped by a black silk tie. The tie had not been purchased for him, unlike everything else he was wearing from his socks to the dark blue cardigan. 

“I think you look lovely.” Bond said, leaning against his bureau. He had picked up Q an hour beforehand in a utterly luxurious black car and brought him back to his flat, where a small stack of crème-colored boxes were waiting on Bond’s table.

“All of this must of cost a fortune.” Q said, gesturing to himself. “I’ll only wreck it.” Most of Q’s clothes looked neat enough, but Bond had begun to notice the frayed pant legs and the occasional pin-sized hole in his cardigans. When he saw the state of Q’s shoes, enough had been enough. 

“Yes, if only they could make a special suit for a job as dangerous as yours.” Bond said morosely. When Q shot him a petulant look, Bond grinned and walked over to him. 

“You work too long, and too hard.” Bond said quietly, straightening Q’s tie with one hand. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you leave early for MI6 every morning, come over here late, and then stay up most of the night tinkering on that bloody laptop of yours.” He took a sip of his drink, his second in the last half hour, and stepped back. 

“That has nothing to do with the clothes.” Q said.

“I wanted you to have something nice to wear. And something comfortable. Besides, keeping an extra set of clothes around my flat doesn’t seem completely impractical.” Bond observed. “Consider them a spare.”

Q was quiet, mostly because Bond was mostly right and he hated to admit it. Over the month since he and Bond had agreed to be “exclusive” or whatever the word for it was, there had been too many occasions where Q had gone from Bond’s bed straight to MI6- typically wearing the same outfit he had left in the day before. The other solution was to bring Bond back to his flat, but he always looked so out of place among the clutter. 

“Well thank you, I suppose.” Q said, casting another look towards the mirror. 

“It was my pleasure.” Bond said with a smirk. “Now, let’s order in, shall we?”

It was odd, sitting across from Bond on his sofa eating Thai food out of take-out containers and flipping through the channels on Bond’s new television. In the past few weeks, Bond had made a concerted effort to bring things into the space, which had been depressingly empty when Q had first encountered it. Now, Q could hardly believe they were in the same place; there were pillows and curtains and even rugs on the floor. When he walked from the kitchen to the master bedroom, his footsteps didn’t echo off of the walls. Even the mantle over the fireplace had a few trinkets, though there were impersonal distractions, drawing attention away from the stout bulldog and the photograph of a man and a woman in front of a sprawling Scotland estate. 

***

The next morning, Q was sitting in his office when Tanner knocked on his door. 

“They’re sending 007 out on assignment this afternoon.” Tanner said, walking forward with a dark folder in his hands. He laid it on the desk and slid it towards Q. “Mallory wants you to prepare the necessities to be ready in three hours time.”

“Thank you, Tanner.” Q said, picking up the folder. It had brass fastenings on the corners and had a significant weight to it. Tanner gave him a parting nod and left, shutting the door behind him. With a feeling of dread, Q opened the folder.

It wasn’t that Q didn’t want Bond to go out on assignments- it was obviously his job, and something that Bond enjoyed doing- he just had been terrified for weeks at the thought of Bond off in a distant country, completely off the grid. So far in their brief dating history, Bond had been meeting with agents from the CIA and Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Once, he had been sent to France on a general reconnaissance. Everything had been relatively low-key. Q hadn’t mentioned this to Bond, but he was pretty sure that Bond was aware of the kid-gloves Mallory was treating him with in the days since Skyfall.  
But now, it seemed that Bond was being sent to Phnom Penh, and from there through the Golden Triangle, to track a member of the heroin trade that had started to dabble in the trade of state secrets. With a heady sigh, Q rose and went downstairs to the Q Branch armory to begin choosing what to send with Bond. 

In the end he selected James’ Walther PPK, an emergency radio with a signal strong enough to pinpoint a location in the Cambodian Jungle, and a tin of hazelnut-colored, heat-reflecting crème that they had recently engineered for camouflage in hot climates. At the last minute, Q picked up a chrome and leather wristwatch, which had a compass set into the edge and a terrain map under the watch’s face. There was also a positioning satellite chip and a heart rate monitor which, while useless on Bond’s end, could be activated and monitored from MI6. He set all of these carefully into a black lockbox and placed Bond’s travel papers, credit cards, and identifications inside as well. 

He brought the lockbox back to his office and set it into his desk drawer. The next two hours passed slowly as Q arranged for the medical staff to schedule immunizations for Bond that afternoon and organize a flight to Cambodia. Afterwards He began to decode a Pakistani encrypted hard drive that one of the other double-ohs had brought back scratched and coated in dust. He had just started to make progress when there was a sharp knock at the door. 

“Hello, 007.” Q said, opening the door wide. Bond smiled and stepped into the room. 

“Hello love.” Bond whispered, trailing his fingers along Q’s collar. Q gave Bond a hard look and shut his office door, praying that none of his staff had seen the minute exchange. 

“You do that on purpose, James.” Q hissed. “Knock it off.”

“ Oh don’t be sour. I hear you have some things for me.” Bond said with a smile. Q beckoned Bond over to the desk, which he walked behind to access the drawer.

“Nice desk.” Bond said with a grin. “Looks sturdy.”

“Shut it, James.” Q tossed a look at the older man and produced the lockbox from the drawer. He opened it and slid the box over for James to peer into, and waited. 

“We expect that you’ll return all of these items when you’re debriefed.” Q said. When Bond looked over and opened his mouth, Q cut him off.

“Yes, debriefed, very classy.” Q said. “Now if you're done acting as if you were five, let me know you some things.”

It shouldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes to take Bond through all of the items in the case, but as time wore on Q realized that he was stalling. Bond’s flight was that evening, so Q wouldn’t see Bond again until his assignment had been completed, which meant that they were in their last moments together before Bond left. 

Finally, Bond held up a hand to stop Q from talking

“Q, unless you’re going to show me where the trigger in on the gun, I think I can take it from here.” He said.

“Right, of course.” Q replied, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“You know I’ll be okay.” Bond said, quietly. “And I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Just be sure that you’re successful.” Q said after a moment of weighing what he wanted to say. “Goodness knows we could use a win around here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Bond winked. He stood, pressed a lingering kiss onto Q’s lips, and left to pack a small bag before heading to the airport. 

A half hour after Bond left, Q pulled a novel-sized tablet out of his desk and turned it on. After a few minutes of calibrations, a map of the city was pulled up onto the screen with a tiny green pinprick that was speeding through the London streets. Just under the map was a small grid pulsing in tune to Bond’s heart. 

Q kept the tablet on him at all times for the rest of the day, and set it by his bedside that night, watching Bond slowly inch closer and closer to Cambodia as the hours passed.


	2. Phone calls and photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II of the "Against His Heart" Series. Bond and Q have been together for a few weeks, carefully balancing their love life with the demands of MI6. At first things are fine, but the trouble begins when Bond is sent on assignment in Asia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that most f you want me to get back to the "good stuff," so to speak. Don't worry- it's coming soon!

“Burning the midnight oil are we, Q?” Moneypenny popped her head into the long, rectangular room of Q Branch. Q was standing at the front of the room, watching a series of digital figures scan across the huge screens above him. 

“I’m just wrapping up.” Q said. He did not take his eyes off of the screen or turn to otherwise acknowledge Moneypenny. 

“You’ve stayed late for the last three nights.” Moneypenny said, opening the glass door the rest of the way and walking towards the front of the room. Her heels clicked on the tile floors. 

“Thank you for that brilliant observation, Moneypenny.” Q said. “If you don’t mind, there is a genius at work and you are keeping him from decoding a rather complex encryption that he’s nearly cracked.” 

“I take it the genius is supposed to be you?” Moneypenny asked, folding her arms across her chest and peering over Q’s shoulder. 

“Well it apparently isn’t you.” Q mumbled, tapping away on the keyboard. Moneypenny moved closer, inspecting Q. 

“Someone’s cranky.” Moneypenny smiled. “Could that have anything to do with the double-oh whose location you’ve been tracking since he left?” She nodded towards the small tablet that was propped next to the computers. Q shot her a look and overturned the tablet so that the screen was hidden. 

“I think it has more to do with the MI6 assistant leaning on my keyboard.” Q said. Moneypenny moved from the desk, peering closely at the keyboard as if it were a venomous reptile and she had accidentally been bitten somehow. 

“Why don’t you just come out with me? You need to get out of this damn bunker. We can go to a club, or head to that nice pub up the road-” 

“If I go home in the next ten minutes, will you promise to never make me do either of those things with you?” 

Moneypenny laughed. “Go home, Q. It’s Friday night. Go relax.”

"I am in the middle of decoding data from terrorist cells in Pakistan. Leisure time it not exactly a top priority right now." Q said. 

"It was a week ago." Moneypenny said quietly, heading towards the door. "I wonder what could have happened in a week to renew your enthusiasm."

She left, dimming the lights behind her. With a sigh, Q began to shut down the computers. Then, in the muted light of Q Branch, he turned over the tablet and zoomed in on the tiny green pinprick. At first, it didn’t seem to be moving, and Q felt like he had been punched in the gut. Hadn't he seen it moving slowly down the streets of Phnom Penh just a few moments ago? It was after midnight in Cambodia- but Bond almost never went to sleep this early when he was on assignment. While a thousand sordid images flashed through his mind, he queued up the heart monitor. It came to life quietly- long lines hiccuping across the screen. Q breathed a sigh of relief when the palpitations seemed to match the heartbeats that he had been watching for the last few days. Things appeared to be completely normal. 

“I can hijack a damn satellite from outer space to read the license plate in a country on the other side of the globe, but I can’t MAKE SURE MY GODDAMN BOYFRIEND HASN’T BEEN MURDERED IN A THIRD WORLD COUNTRY.” Q yelled. His voice echoed off of the walls of the bunker.

"I need a fucking cigarette." He said, once again to himself. 

***  
By ten thirty that evening, Q was sprawled on his couch with a cup of tea on his side table. He was wearing sweatpants and an old cotton t-shirt. The lights were dimmed so that the room was illuminated by only the pale blue light of his ipod dock. He listened to the rain on his windowpane and the late night traffic on the city streets below. It pulled him into sleep like a lullaby. 

An hour later, Q was still lying on the couch. His tea was cold and abandoned, and the slant of light pouring through the blinds obscured the deep circles underneath Q's eyes. When his mobile began to ring, Q groaned and tried to find it with one squinting eye. It had fallen onto the floor. 

“Hello?” Q croaked, more motivated by getting the ringing to stop than by hearing whoever was on the other end. 

“Jesus, you sound like shit.” A voice laughed on the other end. 

“James?” 

“The one and only.” Bond replied. 

“What time is it there?” Q asked, sitting up to try and shake the fog from his head. 

“About six a.m. I’m meeting someone in a bit and after that I’ll be off the grid for a few days, so I just wanted to say a quick hello.” Q heard a glass clink in the background. Q sighed. 

“The sun can’t even properly be up and you’re already drinking aren’t you?” Q accused.

“Now Q, don’t be judgmental.” Bond replied. The glass clinked again. 

“How far off the grid?” Q asked, deciding to change the subject. 

“Nothing you can’t track, Q. I don’t want you to worry.” Bond said. Concern was heavy in his voice, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with him. 

“Who says I’m worried?” Q asked petulantly. 

“So you haven’t been staying at MI6 after hours since I left?” Bond challenged. "I hear you've even gotten yourself a new accessory. Apparently you carry it around as if it were a handbag."

“You have Moneypenny spying on me, don’t you?” Q realized, ignoring the jab.

“We both know that Moneypenny isn’t cut out for fieldwork. She’s only passing along messages when I’ve had contact with M.” 

“You’re infuriating.” Q said.

“Maybe, but you love it.” Bond said. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. “I have to go now, Q. Promise me you won’t go in to the bunker tomorrow. Take a day off. It’s a Saturday, after all.”

“There aren’t exactly weekends in espionage, James.” Q said tiredly.

“Perhaps.” Bond agreed. “ But one of us should have a day off, and it does not appear as if it will be me. I’ll see you when I get back, Q.” 

“Bye, James.” 

They lingered on the line for a moment, both aware of something more that they’d like to say. In the end, though, they both hung up without exchanging any more than a few breaths through the silence. 

***

The next morning, a series of heavy knocks on the door stirred Q from the sofa, where he had fallen asleep after the phone call the night before. 

“Coming, coming.” Q mumbled, passing through the kitchen on his way to the door. A man in a delivery uniform stood on the other side, tapping his foot impatiently. Q opened the door.

“Delivery.” The man thrust the package into Q’s arms and turned down the hallway. 

Q stared after the man for a second, and then down to the box in his hands. It was dark and heavy, with a texture kind of like velvet, but not quite. He wandered back into the main room and placed the box on the center of the table so that he could light a cigarette. 

He lifted the lid off of the box and peered inside. Laying on a soft bed of cotton was a dark, picture frame. Inside of the frame was a black and white photograph that had been taken weeks beforehand. They were standing together by the brick façade of a bar, Q holding a lit cigarette and Bond was looking off into the distance, but they were standing close together and smiling, only slightly obscured by smoke. A waitress on her break had been standing across from them smoking as well, and she snapped the photograph on her cell phone. She sent it to Bond, who never kept a cell phone for more than a week and so didn't see any danger in letting the waitress have his number. 

It was the first picture of both Bond and Q, and Q was fairly certain that it was one of the only photographs of James that had been taken since he joined MI6 aside from the photo for his travel documents. Q smiled, and put it in the center of the table, right next to the tablet that was still beating in tune to James’ heart.


	3. Technical Failures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...It had been Bond’s idea for Q to fuck him. This had terrified Q (although he would never admit it). He had fucked a man before, obviously, but these were all men that had been fucked before. While Bond was not new to men, he had always dominated in bedroom politics, from what Q had surmised."

_“Nervous, Q?” Bond asked. He quirked his eyebrow, which accentuated a scar that lifted up into his hairline that had faded over time._

_“I wasn’t, but if you keep needling me like that I will be.” Q said. He was kneeling at the edge of Bond’s bed with the bottle of lube in his hands. He was naked, which didn’t typically subject him to feelings of shyness or embarrassment. But tonight he was kneeling over Bond, who was lying on his back with his knees pulled up towards his chest. Only James Bond could be looking at him from such an incredibly vulnerable position and still appear to be taunting him._

_“I’m not needling you.” Bond said. He dropped his knees flat so that he could sit up. He leaned forward and kissed Q._

_“You bloody well are.” Q said, but he was unable to make himself sound annoyed. Not when Bond was there, kneeling in front of him, his beautiful blue eyes looking at him so intensely._

_“I’m sorry. I don’t mean it.” Bond said gently. He kissed down Q’s jaw and towards his neck. His lips lingered at Q’s collarbone and then moved around to the back of the shoulder._

_“Then lay back down, will you?” Q said, pressing against Bond’s chest with his hand so that they were both lying horizontally on the bed. He pulled a bit of Bond’s ear between his teeth, nipping him hard, and then bit down Bond’s chest and abdomen. He bit hard and sucked deeply, fully intending to leave marks that would linger on Bond’s skin for at least a little while._

_“Christ, James.” Q moaned when he reached Bond’s belly button. Bond’s cock was resting, hard and full, just underneath the gentle divot. “You are unbelievably sexy.”_

_Bond gasped when Q licked at his tip, tonguing his slit. When Q licked down Bond’s length and then took him into his mouth, the gasp became a deep moan. Bond bucked his hips up to push himself further into Q’s mouth. As Q moved his mouth around Bond’s cock, he slowly began to slide his slicked fingers into Bond, opening him slowly. Bond reacted sharply when Q slid his first finger inside of him, but the reaction was tempered by the time that he made it to the second, and then the third. He felt Bond clenching around him, and there was a set to his jaw that told Q that Bond was still adjusting to the sensation. Q kept his rhythm slow, and tried to be particularly attentive to Bond with his tongue._

_They were switching positions for the first time. Bond was a top. It was just a simple fact. But as their relationship went on, Q began to feel uncomfortable with the amount of charge that Bond seemed to hold between the two of them. It certainly wasn’t a conscious effort on Bond’s part, but you didn’t get to be a double-oh by relegating yourself to the passenger seat interpersonally, and his relationship with Q hadn’t been an exception._

_So Q broached the topic one night when they were laying in bed together, both still sweating and breathing heavily. Bond had pushed him close to his limit of I-like-it-rough, leaving flushed marks on Q's haunches and coloring high on his cheeks. And so he was finally feeling ready enough to address it._

_It had been Bond’s idea for Q to fuck him. This had terrified Q (although he would never admit it). He had fucked a man before, obviously, but these were all men that had been fucked before. While Bond was not new to men, he had always dominated in bedroom politics, from what Q had surmised. But Bond seemed to feel that this would help to even the playing field, so to speak, and so Q decided to go along with it._

_Q slowly pulled his mouth off of Bond and wrapped a hand around him instead, running his hand up and down the slick shaft slowly. He ducked himself down enough so that Bond’s legs were tucked over his shoulders. With his other hand, he slicked his own cock and pressed himself against the underside of Bond’s balls._

_“Ready?” He whispered, rubbing his thumb over Bond’s tip. Bond grunted in ascent, and Q drug his cock downwards to press against Bond’s entrance before pushing himself slowly inside until his thighs were flush against Bond’s ass._

_Bond breathed a few short, shallow huffs as he adjusted to having the full length of Q inside of him. Q waited a few seconds and then began to grind himself in slow circles into Bond. The keen that escaped his throat encouraged Q to begin moving more, sliding out slowly and then pushing quickly back inside of the tight heat. Soon, Bond was moving himself to Q’s rhythm, and Q began to push more quickly while simultaneously pumping his hand on Bond’s cock._

_“I’m fucking close, Q.” Bond warned. He rolled his hips upwards just as Q’s thumb passed over his slit. Bond came over Q’s hand, cursing quietly as he rode out his orgasm. After a few more thrusts, Q came as well- his teeth gritted and his eyes screwed tightly shut._

***

Moneypenny was looming over Q’s desk, looking at him with concern. Q was pulled suddenly from his memory of one of the last nights he and Bond had spent together before his assignment.

“-you alright?” Moneypenny asked kindly. Q looked up at her and was grateful that his desk concealed his waist.

“I’m sorry, zoned out for a moment there. What did you need?” Q asked, glancing at the different screens on his desk. 

“Mallory sent me. He wanted an update on that Pakistani hard drive. Have you cracked it ye- Q? What’s wrong?”

Q was staring at the small tablet that he set up next to his other monitors. Ten minutes beforehand, the screen had depicted Bond as a small green dot moving through the Cambodian jungles. Beneath the map was a heart monitor, which depicted a slightly elevated heart rate. Now, however, it was blank save for a handful of words glowing on a black screen.

**Transmission A35 Interrupted from Source.**

And then just underneath, a similar message;

**Medical Transmission A39007 Terminated from Source**

“What the-“ Q hooked a small keyboard up to the tablet and began typing furiously, deactivating the program and then re-booting it. When the same sentence appeared again, he turned away from the table and began to type in a string of commands into one of his computers. 

“Get Mallory.” Q said, typing furiously.

“Why? What’s happened?” Moneypenny asked. 

“I’m remote activating his emergency radio, but I need M to authorize a rescue.” Q said, not quite listening to Moneypenny.

“Q! What’s happened?” She asked again. Q stopped typing for a second and looked at her, fear filling every feature of his face.

“James’ satellite tracker and heart monitor have both gone offline.” Q said.

“So it could just be a technical malfunction.” Moneypenny replied, walking around the desk to peer at the tablet.

“Not both.” Q said, his voice strained as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Not at the same time.”

“But-“

“GO GET MALLORY! NOW!” Q yelled.

As Moneypenny fled from the room, he began to mutter to himself.

“Please James, hang in there. Please James, please James, please.”


	4. Cracked Ribs and Comas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is brought back to MI6 bloody, broken, and unconscious.

Everything was silent, except for the heart monitor, which was beeping quietly. Q’s hands were folded tightly in his lap. He was hunched over in his chair, staring at the floor. Every few minutes, he would look up and stare at the hospital bed in the center of the room, where Bond lay battered, broken, and comatose. 

It had taken twelve hours to find Bond. Q had watched the progress of the rescue from Q Branch, nursing cup after cup of tea brought to him by Moneypenney. No one said a word to Q. After a few hours, M came down and put a firm hand on Q’s shoulder.

“We’ve got him, Q.” He said. “A medical evac team is treating him, and he’ll be brought back here immediately. “

“He’s alive?” Q asked, turning to his boss.

“He’s alive. But he’s pretty roughed up.” M said. He looked uncomfortable. Consolation was not one of his primary skill sets. 

Q took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, which were puffy and tinged pink. He let out a long, low breath. It felt as if he hadn’t breathed properly since he was the heart monitor go blank. 

“What in the bloody hell happened?” Q asked. He was leaning with his elbows on the edge of the table, holding himself together with the palms of his hands and little else. 

“The informant was a double agent. We’re not really clear on the rest of the details just yet.” M replied. “We’ll know more when Bond is conscious.”

And here they were a week later, with no further progress on getting answers and Bond still silent as a bloody tomb. A member of the medical staff walked into the room, and Q looked up. She checked on the screens of the many machines hooked up to Bond, and wrote some numbers down on a chart she had fastened to a sleek glass clipboard. She was gone as fast as she had come, passing quietly through the glass doors that led to the rest of MI6 without a word. 

***

“Q, you should really go home.” Moneypenny said to him once, a week and a half after Bond had been brought back. 

“No.” Q said simply. It was nearly one in the morning, and he was sitting by Bond’s bedside. 

In the last few days many of the machines had been unhooked, but Bond was still unconscious. The list of injuries that he had sustained made it clear that he had been beaten within an inch of his life; cracked ribs, internal bleeding, a snapped ankle, dislocated shoulder, and deep-tissue bruising on nearly every inch of his body. Twice a day a handful of the medical staff came in to carefully move Bond onto his side, so that they could clean the deep gashes that striped his back. The doctors said that based on the bruising that formed on the skin beside the gashes Bond had probably been whipped with thin chains. But they wouldn’t know until Bond woke up. 

“Bond would be pissed if he saw you like this.” Moneypenny said, looking at Q carefully. He looked exhausted and drawn. 

“Well then I guess it’s bloody lucky that he’s in a fucking coma.” Q snapped, glaring at Moneypenny. A small part of him felt guilty, because he knew that she was only trying to help. But there was a large part of him that was isolated, the sole figure standing in the darkness, and no amount of cajoling or convincing would make him feel like he had anywhere else to be besides right there in MI6.

“Don’t start that shit with me, Q.” Moneypenny warned, and she left. A few minutes later, she came back with a fleece blanket and a camping pillow. Q was already nodding off in the chair, his long limbs folded around his body uncomfortably. Quietly, she began to tuck the blanket around Q.

“Thank you.” He murmured, half asleep. 

Moneypenny had turned to leave again when she noticed the dark picture frame sitting on the table next to Q. It was lying facedown. When she turned it over, the laughing faces of Bond and Q looked back at her. The glass in the frame was smudged with fingerprints, a rubbing pattern had been worried over Bond’s lips. She looked at Q, who seemed so small all of the sudden, and placed the frame back down on the table. 

***

Two weeks after Cambodia, Bond woke up. Moneypenny was sitting by his bedside, because Q had demanded that she take his place for a few hours while he worked on tracking down the men that had attacked Bond. It had taken a long time to convince Q that he didn’t need to be in the room permanently (in fact, Mallory had to threaten to sack Q if he didn’t at least get some work done during the day, and if Q was sacked then he wouldn’t have access to the MI6 building at all). Q would not allow Bond to be left alone, however. He insisted that someone Bond knew was in the room at all times. 

“Moneypenny.” Bond grumbled. His voice sounded like gravel. Moneypenny started, and looked up from the novel in her lap.

“Hello, Bond.” Moneypenny smiled. She pressed the call button on an intercom to summon the medical team.

“Where’s-“ Bond looked carefully around the room.

“He’s off plotting revenge.” Moneypenny answered. “Apparently they recovered some DNA from your attackers, and he’s determined to track them down.” She said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already hacked a military drone missile and sent it careening into the Cambodian jungle by now.”

“Oh good, we wouldn’t want to be inconspicuous or anything of the sort.” Bond said with a sigh. His eyes screwed up tight when he moved, and he grit his teeth against the pain. 

“Do be nice, James. He was the one that sent us in after you. It would have taken double the time to find you with only the radio signal.” Moneypenny said, careful to look away while Bond arranged himself in the bed. 

Bond looked confused, but Moneypenny didn’t expand any further.

“I’ve called medical, so they’ll be here in a moment. And I’m sure he’ll be here soon since he’s hacked the entire medical database so that he gets every up, though- ah, here he is.” Moneypenny rose from her seat, and left the room. She gave Q a brief nod in passing, which went unnoticed. 

“James? Fuck, James- thank god.” Q came up to the side of the bed and grabbed Bond by the arm, which sent a shock of pain through him. Q began to apologize, but Bond waved the apology off.

“Shit, Q. You look like hell.” Bond said, taking in Q’s pinched and tired look. The already lanky man had lost weight, and his eyes were underscored by deep bruises. 

“You don’t look so good yourself.” Q said with a sad smile. “But never mind that. How do you feel?”

Bond took a slow inventory of his body, and decided that he felt like absolute shit. Every inch of his body hurt, he informed Q, and his limbs felt heavy and near-useless.

Medical came in then, and told Q that he had to leave so that they could assess the damage to Bond’s body. Q retreated from the room, only to watch their treatment of Bond from the other side of the frosted glass door. From the closed side of the glass, the team was dark and looked like shadows, pulling Bond back into the world of the living. 

***

Three weeks after Cambodia, Bond was sitting up and walking a little, despite the begrudging commentary from the medical staff that it was all too much, too soon. 

“I want to go home.” Bond told Q, over and over again. The most recent of which was after a particularly disastrous effort for Bond to walk without assistance. He had been settled back in bed, but his breath was still not quite regular. 

“You’ll go home when the risk of infection passes.” Q replied from over his crossword puzzle, which he had been pretending to work on. Q was still spending his nights in the medical bay. 

“I’m tired of being poked and prodded. I just want to bloody well rest.” Bond complained. Q set his puzzle aside and leaned forward. “I want to feel human again. I don’t want you or anyone else fussing over me anymore. It’s a damn waste of time.”

“You could have died, James. In the middle of the fucking Cambodian jungle.” Q whispered softly. “You’re lucky to be alive. Give them another week, maybe two, and then you can be at home.”

“Lay with me.” Bond said. He winced as he slowly moved himself over on the bed.

“James, no. You’re still too hurt.” Q said. 

“Don’t be such a granny. Come lay with me.” Annoyance clouded the edge of Bond’s voice. 

“James-“

“Please?” 

“No. And don’t give me the sad eyes, James. It’s been a long day.” Q said tiredly. “You’re acting like a petulant child.” 

Bond looked angry at first, but then he smiled weakly and settled himself down in the blankets. Q picked the puzzle back up and laid it across his knee so that he could work on it with one hand, and hold Bond’s with his other. Once Bond had fallen asleep, Q rose to stand in one of the empty waiting rooms so that he could smoke a cigarette with a shaking, panicked hand. 

***

“The wheelchair is unnecessary.” Bond complained when Q opened the car door. The offending wheelchair was unfolded quickly, and Q gingerly helped Bond to extricate himself from the car and settle into the chair.

“Then humor me.” Q said, pulling the chair away from the car and then pushing towards Bond’s flat. He was grateful that it was on the first floor. He only had to maneuver the chair up a handful of shallow steps before pushing Bond through the entryway. 

“I’m always bloody humoring you, Q. Let me up.” Bond said.

“Fine.” Q sighed, stamping the break on the chair. “But you have to promise to take it slow.”

“Oh come off it, I’ll be fine.” Bond said, slowly pushing himself out of the chair. He had just made it fully upright when his ankle gave out, sending him toppling sideways. Q shot forward and caught him. Bond let out a noise like a wounded, keening animal, and Q thought that his heart was breaking. 

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” Bond yelled, pushing himself up from Q’s arms. Q kept a tight hold on Bond’s upper arm with one hand and wrapped the other around his waist to support him. He couldn’t be sure of Bond was in pain, or if he was just reacting to the fall.

“James, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Q said softly. “Here, we’ll go together.” 

“Just fucking leave me, Q. I’m bloody useless.” Bond snarled. 

“James, come on.” Q said. “Don’t be like that.”

Bond huffed, but said nothing. He let Q tighten his grip on his waist and slowly they made their way through the flat and into Bond’s bedroom. Gently, Q lowered Bond onto the bed. Bond hissed and grunted as his body was tucked onto the mattress. Bond looked at Q expectantly, and with a sigh Q walked over to the other side of the bed, toed off his shoes, and crawled in next to Bond.

Q tucked one arm under Bond’s neck and draped the other around his waist, one of the few places that had healed already. He pressed a kiss into Bond’s forehead. 

“Thank you.” Bond said quietly, his voice thick with sleep.

“For what, James?” Q asked.

“For staying.” Bond murmured. Q shook his head.

“Of course I’m staying you arsehole.” Q said. “Someone has to keep you from getting killed.”

Bond chuckled, wincing when his ribs jostled. A few minutes later, he fell asleep in Q’s arms.


	5. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has to figure out a way to help Bond heal.

It was incredibly slow going, Bond’s healing process. The first few days were filled with belligerent curses and the frightful tantrums of an incredibly independent man unable to do a single thing that he wanted to. Even with Q there to assist him, Bond fought him every step of the way. 

“I can shower by myself, thanks.” Bond spat at Q, trying to wave the younger man off.

“Bond, you can barely stand. Please just let me-“

“I can do it, Q!” Bond snapped. Q tried not to feel wounded when he was forced to let Bond go and had to rush forward mere seconds later to catch the man, who howled in pain. 

In all, it was like being caged with an incredibly volatile animal. Mostly Q just tried to keep himself out of range for a direct attack- he didn’t outright assist Bond with anything, just tried to anticipate needs. After three days, Q was exhausted, and Bond’s body was stretched to the physical limit of what it could continue to take. 

He was about to commit the ultimate betrayal- request a cocktail of drugs to sedate Bond just to carry him through the worst of the healing process- when he decided to try an alternate tactic entirely. Bond would see through it immediately, but fuck if Q wasn’t going to try every single weapon in his armory before giving up.

After the first night, Q had spent most of his evenings on Bond’s couch. When they slept together, Q had a tendency to gravitate towards Bond until he was wrapped around him. Q didn’t want to risk hurting Bond’s ribs, or frankly any of his other myriad injuries, so he had stayed away. But in the afternoon of the third day, Q decided to lie down next to Bond while he slept. The smallest tasks wore Bond out anymore, so after the particularly disastrous attempt at showering had run its course, Bond had fallen asleep while Q returned to the bathroom to clean up the soaked floor. He had finally finished and had changed into dry clothes when he laid down, closer to Bond than he had been in days. 

He was afraid to lay an arm on Bond’s body, so instead he traced gentle patterns on the insides of his wrists and arms. After a half hour Bond woke up, and Q was still tracing lazily.

“Hey.” Q said when Bond looked at him. 

“Hey.” Bond said, tiredly.

Q planted a quick kiss on Bond’s forehead. 

“How’d you sleep?” He asked. 

“Okay.” Bond said. He shifted a little. “Everything hurts.” 

This would typically be a cue for Q to get up and begin fussing with Bond’s medications while the agent fought him in taking them. Or he would rearrange pillows and try to find a more comfortable position for Bond. But instead, Q just rubbed his fingers up Bond’s arms and across his chest- ghosting over the bruises. He began to trace small kisses in the trail of his fingers, and Bond sighed with something closer to contentment than Q had heard in weeks. 

“I was thinking of a bath.” Q said after a few minutes. “Come and join me?” 

“Q-“ the hard edge was back in Bond’s voice. “I don’t think-“

“It’s just a bath, Bond. No standing. Not even any scrubbing, if you’re not inclined.” Q said. He placed kisses along Bond’s jaw, and gently swiped his tongue along Bond’s lower lip. He knew that Bond was avoiding the things that he wasn’t able to do on his own. The shower from earlier, which had been more of a naked deluge preceding a particularly dangerous fall, had stripped Bond of yet another article of dignity. But Q wanted to try this new tactic, and he was determined to get Bond to work with him. 

“Fine.” Bond sighed. And so Q got up to turn on the taps. 

This time, instead of trying to get Bond out of bed so that he could help carry him into the bathroom, Q sat Bond up slowly, distracting him from the pain as best as he could with lingering kisses. It was far from a perfect process, but it worked enough that Bond was standing before his body gave away any particularly strong complaints, and by then Q had a hand wrapped around Bond’s waist and his other under Bond’s less injured arm. Q worried Bond’s lower lip between his teeth, and rubbed the notch in Bond’s lower back as they walked into the bathroom- Q stepping backwards and Bond following him. By the time they made it, the tub was filled with steaming water and a rather expensive bubble bath, which Q knew wasn’t a particular interest of either Bond or himself, but he figured it would make up for the absence of any actual washing. 

Q got into the tub first, which seemed instinctively counter intuitive, but he was able to keep himself steady long enough to help Bond into the bath as well. Together, then sunk carefully own to the bottom of the basin, and Q kept his lips of Bond’s neck and shoulders the entire way. 

At first, Q could feel Bond’s body protesting the heat of the water and the exertion it had taken to get him into it. But once he had positioned Bond between his legs and laid him against his chest, Q felt the double-oh’s wounded body relax. 

“How’s this?” Q asked after a few minutes. He had been tracing his hands through Bond’s hair, which had grown a bit shaggy in the last few weeks. He was unable to suppress a smile when Bond had hummed contentedly. 

“s’nice.” Bond murmured. Q had a feeling that Bond would fall asleep again, and he was grateful that he was there to keep him above the water. 

“Bond?” Q asked after a while.

“hmmm?” Bond replied. 

“Does this hurt?” Q began to run his hands over Bond’s chest, placing small increments of pressure along his pectorals. 

“No.” Bond said quietly. Q slid his hands a little lower, to the uppermost of Bonds ribs. Bond shifted a little, not so much in pain but in the expectation of it, and seemed surprised when he once again denied feelings of pain. 

Touching Bond’s lower ribs elicited a grunt of pain, and Q began to apologize profusely until Bond shook his head to quiet him. When Q’s hands moved lower, to Bond’s hips, he felt him raise himself a little into Q’s touch. In response, Q rubbed circles deep into the joints of Bond’s hips, which left him leaning his head back onto Q’s shoulder with a satisfied sigh. Q took advantage of the position and kissed Bond’s exposed neck. 

Eventually the water in the tub began to turn uncomfortably cool, so Q rose to begin the arduous task of helping Bond out of the water. It ended up not being as difficult as he thought, though, because Bond did not try and fight for independence on the way to his feet. Instead he worked with Q, allowing them both to get into dry pyjamas rather quickly. 

Q made them both grilled cheese with caramelized onions and mushrooms as an early dinner, and brought the meal to Bond in bed with a flair that made it seem much less like a necessity and more like a picnic. As a joke, Q had packed everything into a dusty wicker basket that he had found and put some juice in a thermos to pour into tiny paper cups. Bond had chuckled when Q brought in the spread, and could only display fake petulance when Q handed him his sandwich pre-cut and on a plate.

That night they watched a movie on Q’s laptop and kissed softly until Bond drifted into sleep. He lay against Q’s chest, unexpectedly light for someone so muscular. It took a long time for Q to feel comfortable enough to sleep as well. 

At the end of the week, Bond was doing remarkably better. He still struggled to get around and do most things, but his attitude was much more relaxed. He seemed far more willing to be patient with himself if Q was helping him. 

“Come here.” He said to Q at one point, pulling his Quartermaster so that he was straddling Bond’s hips. He pulled Q down close to his lips and sucked his way into Q’s mouth with a ferocity that Q had not experienced in a long time. 

In an attempt to be gentle, Q kept his knees in a wide stance on either side of Bond, which dipped his ass low into Bond’s groin. As their kiss deepened, Q felt Bond’s cock begin to stir. Q jumped off Bond quickly, and stuttered something about having to go to the kitchen for something. 

When Q returned, shamefaced and shy, Bond was looking at him sternly. When he opened his mouth to speak, Q held up a hand to silence him. Then, he crawled onto the bed and positioned himself on his side next to Bond. He leaned forward and kissed him deeply while trailing one hand down in between Bond’s thighs. James reacted immediately, pressing his groin up into the pressure of his hand. 

Nervously, Q moved in-between Bond’s legs and kissed up the inside of his thigh. 

“Tell me if it’s too much.” Q said as he moved up close to the join between Bond’s legs. When he reached Bond’s stiffening cock, he pressed his tongue against Bond’s base. He then pressed his fingers to the underside of Bond’s balls, rubbing deeply. 

Bond only moaned in reply and spread his legs a bit wider. Q took that as an invitation and rubbed his fingers lower- only pulling them away to rub them with lubricant that he had stowed in his pocket while he was in the kitchen. As he pressed against Bond’s hole, he took his cock deep into his throat. The combination of sensations drew a series of grunts and groans from Bond that made Q’s own cock twitch. It was all enough to make Q want to rut into the mattress until he blacked out, but instead he kept himself concentrated on Bond, sliding one finger past the ring of muscle and slowing to let him adjust to the invasion before curling to massage his prostate. A few minutes later, he added a second. Q slid his mouth up the length of Bond’s cock and swirled his tongue around the tip before sinking down again, eventually moving the thrusts of his fingers and the hollow of his mouth to the same rhythm. 

“Q- shit.” Bond moaned, and came quickly. Q swallowed him down and lapped at Bond’s length while he listened to Bond finish the tail end of his orgasm. He pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his pyjama pants, which were tented with his own erection. 

Bond’s breathing was erratic, and Q was concerned enough that he looked at Bond worriedly and considered getting the pain medication. But after a moment Bond smiled down and Q and beckoned for him to lay with him. 

“Uh… one second, James.” Q said awkwardly. The truth was that his own cock hadn’t seen any kind of, well, anything since Bond’s injury, and he was so hard it practically hurt. “Just let me-“

“Get your ass up here.” Bond growled. Resigned, Q obliged, and gasped when Bond immediately slipped his hands into Q’s waistband and began to run his hands over him. 

Later that night, they lay together and chatted absently about hundreds of random things and thoughts. Bond kept mentioning places that he wanted to show Q- all accessible by train- and Q laughed and let him plan. For the moment, MI6 didn’t exist for them. Bond wasn’t in terrible agony, and they were just two guys, sharing a bed and dreaming of a future together.

For the moment, everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for part two. Eventually I'll post a part three if people are interested. Let me know in the comments!


	6. Author's Note: Part III of the "Against His Heart" series is up!

Hello everyone!

 

Thank you all for your incredibly kind comments on this work! Your response has been so strong that I've begun Part III of the series! 

The first chapter is posted under the work "Ablutions" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/592908)

Enjoy!


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